Hello again! Here is a little oneshot I wrote for the Prompt Exchange Challenge by Unattainable Dreams (and sorry it is late!). It is Citronshipping (Marik Ishtar x Thief King Bakura) and set in Ancient Egypt. Hope you enjoy! – Jem

Warnings: some allusion to sexual scenes, no actual smut though

Yu-Gi-Oh! and these characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi, not me.

*Prompt: End your story with: "I swear next time you're hiding the body." [Sent by Holy Angel Heart]*

The warmth of the sun was already dying down into dusk, the sky outside the low, meek hut painted with streaks of pink and orange and red, heralding the ending of the day. Marik missed the sun and sand. He hated how the cold, dangerous desert nights always kept him trapped indoors, wishing he could be free to spend every moment, sleeping and waking, outside.

Isis was late home tonight. Marik wandered to the tiny window in the front wall, peering out into the darkness of the street with narrowed eyes. A few torchlit entrances, much like the Ishtar hut, were the only source of light in the last dying rays of daylight. A lone shadowy figure approached down the street.

Marik went to the door and pulled it open with a smile. "Sister. Welcome home."

"Hi, Marik," Isis' familiar voice answered, sounding weary. She entered the warm hut with a shiver and went straight to the table, collapsing on a wooden seat with a low sigh.

"Hard training today?" Marik asked. A slightly worried crease appeared in his brow as he followed after her, watching her kick off her sandals.

Isis merely nodded. "You can say that again."

"Tell me about it." Marik went to the fire and removed the pot of broth, pouring two bowls and setting them on the table as he listened to his sister.

"The Thief King's back," Isis answered with a low groan. "He's got all the Palace officials panicking. Every corridor has about three guards on it – it's crazy, honestly."

"Three guards on every corridor, and still the Thief King gets through?" Marik asked with curiosity evident in his tone.

Isis nodded. "Yes. He has proved rather difficult to catch so far, though I don't doubt that he will be caught eventually." She accepted the bowl of hot broth, sipping it up eagerly.

Marik merely smirked. Not if Bakura has anything to do with it. He took a seat opposite his sister, picking at his own broth with a secretive grin at his lips.

"Of course," Isis continued between mouthfuls, "The Thief King has some gall. He stole from the Centre Vault today."

Marik's eyes flew wide open.

"Had to kill a guard to get there, not anyone I knew though," Isis continued, hardly noticing her brother's sudden silence. "And he was chased out of the Palace, but not before he stole a bagful of gold. Ran off cackling, by all accounts."

Marik stared.

Isis caught his look and returned it with a grin. "I know, right? His bravery would be admirable if he put it towards more suitable tasks."

"…I just can't believe he hasn't been caught yet," Marik answered honestly.

Isis' expression fell again and she nodded, blue eyes slightly downcast. "It does the Palace's reputation no good at all. Thankfully he seems to work alone, although that does make the scope of his feats even more…"

"Impressive."

"…I was going for terrifying," Isis smiled briefly, "Although I guess the Thief King is impressive when seen in a certain light."

You can say that again, Marik thought, holding back a grin.

Once they had both eaten, Marik cleared the bowls away before he headed for the back door. "Just going to feed the horses."

"Of course," Isis waved him away. "Try not to be hours about it today."

"Me? As if!" Marik sent her an innocent stare, grinning as her laughter echoed behind him.

...

Marik stretched as soon as he was outside again, his lithe body reaching high into the air. His back cracked satisfactorily. Marik's violet eyes were lit in the last glowing rays of the desert sun, his feet leaving imprints in the cooling sand out at the back of the little hut he shared with his sister. His blond hair dripped into his eyes as he walked on out to the small oasis that they used to house their horses. It wasn't really big enough to be called a proper oasis – merely a miniature pool of water, a few reeds, and a lone tree – but it was enough to service their needs.

It was also far enough away for prying eyes not to see anything … suspicious.

Marik approached with a very deliberate frown settled onto his features. From what Isis had said, Bakura deserved a good talking-to tonight, of which Marik was determined to give him.

Sure enough, once he had crested the small dune of sand, a figure with white hair became apparent, sprawled out on the sand beside the small source of water. Their two horses were standing quietly beside him, too used to his presence by now to be worried or shy away from him. The scene could almost have been called peaceful.

Not for much longer.

Marik strode down to Bakura's side, giving him a prod with his toe. "Hey. Wake up."

A low grunt was all he got in response. Bakura was splayed out flat on his back, red cloak laid across his legs, leaving him bare-chested in the dying rays of the sun. His eyes were firmly closed, white hair tossed in a careless mop in his face. The scar on his right cheek stood out starkly.

Marik's toe prodded his side again. "Bakura!"

"Mmph," Bakura mumbled something unintelligible, shifting.

Marik rolled his eyes and sat down next to Bakura on the sand, settling himself comfortably. "If you don't wake up, I'll just leave you here. Alone."

"As if," Bakura muttered, and Marik grinned because now he knew the thief could hear him. He seated himself cross-legged on the warm sand, the last dying rays of the sun sprawling across his face as he glanced down at Bakura, studying the tired form of the thief. Bakura looked exhausted. His scarred face was drained, eyes still firmly shut, muscles bunched under the red cloak. Marik picked out a few new scars on Bakura's right shoulder – scrapes and bruises by the look of it. Perhaps he had fallen awkwardly.

"My sister told me you broke in again today," Marik spoke abruptly.

Another grunt told him Bakura was still listening.

"She said you stole from the Centre Vault." Marik tore his gaze away from the thief for long enough to scour their surroundings, and sure enough, there was a new dark sack laid out by the small pool of water. A slight glimmer told of the wealth of its contents. Marik stared at it, listening to the quiet swell of the water, the tiny shifts in sand, the ancient noises of the desert in the silent night. The sky had turned a deep blood-red.

When Marik looked back down, Bakura's piercing eyes were open and trained straight on him. He jumped.

Bakura smirked briefly. "Your sister knows too much."

"Is she right?" Marik turned his body to face Bakura again, drawing his knees up into his chest.

Bakura shrugged and closed his eyes again. His long willowy body stretched on the sand, the cloak slipping a little and revealing more of his developed chest. Marik's eyes zoned in on his skin as he spoke again. "She said you had to kill a guard."

Bakura's eyes flew open, and he sat up at that.

Marik kept looking at him. "Is she right?"

Bakura muttered a curse and glared at the ground. He reached for his cloak but stopped with a quiet grunt, his left hand going to his right shoulder and gently massaging the fresh bruises there. He hissed quietly.

Marik moved closer and his finger's replaced Bakura's, gently pressing on the pattern of bruises. His eyes sought out Bakura's from under his mop of dirty white hair, finding their light purple depths that bled almost red in the dying sunlight. Marik's eyes narrowed. "Tell me what happened."

Bakura's brows knitted together and he released a huff of air. "I didn't think anyone saw me."

"Didn't see you?" Marik couldn't hold back his quiet scoff. "They couldn't exactly miss you. The King of Thieves has got rather notorious."

Bakura grinned. "That was the idea."

"Yes, and it was fine until you started killing people," Marik levelled a glare at him. His fingers continued to dance over Bakura's shoulder and Marik inspected the bruise closely, his head tilting to the side. "How did you do this?"

"Landed awkwardly when I jumped out of the window," Bakura grunted. "And be more gentle."

Marik rolled his eyes, but obediently softened his touches. He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the worst bruise, dark purple spreading across Bakura's dark brown flesh. Two warm fingers touched Marik's chin, turning his head back up to meet Bakura's mouth. They kissed quietly for a moment or two before Marik pulled away, his tone surprisingly mild. "Jumped out of the window?"

"I didn't want to get caught," Bakura shrugged. His palm remained on Marik's cheek, thumb tracing his lips.

Marik just grinned, a small chuckle escaping him. "Isis said you ran away cackling."

Bakura arched a brow. "Cackling?"

"Her words; not mine." Marik sent him a sly grin from under his lashes before returning his attention to Bakura's shoulder. "Word of your deeds is spreading. You're getting noticed."

A dangerous grin lit Bakura's lips, his eyes sparkling in the early desert night.

Marik caught his expression and he frowned. "That isn't necessarily a good thing, you know." He caught Bakura's hand and brought it down from his face, fixing him with a stern stare. "Especially if you're killing people. You do know what the penalty for that is, don't you?"

"Only if you're caught," Bakura responded airily, his eyes still glinting dangerously.

Marik's frown deepened. "You are not invincible."

Bakura merely smirked and pulled Marik closer, dragging him up into his lap. He kissed him again, his strong hands going to Marik's hair, threading through the strands with a gentleness that Marik liked to think was only reserved for him. He returned the kisses, humming happily. "You always try and distract me with this."

"Because it always works," Bakura growled back with a nip to Marik's lower lip.

Marik had no answer for that – it was painfully true, after all – so he succumbed to the touches and lay down with his thief, focusing on the warmth of their skin together on the grainy sand. Hands burned wherever they touched him, a fire as bright as the sun burning in their coming together, trapped between their bodies. A lone star out in the far reaches of the desert. Marik allowed Bakura to roll on top of him, his body arching in time with the thief, a quiet groan escaping him as hands travelled across his skin, soon replaced by lips. He pulled Bakura closer. These nights with the Thief King were one of the few times Marik felt fully, truly alive, and so he allowed his body to be used against him in a harsh dance of grunts and moans, messy kisses in the darkness.

Afterwards, Marik laid his head on Bakura's bare chest, his eyes half-closed. The red cloak lay over both of them, protecting them from the harsh desert night, though Marik never thought he could be cold when he had Bakura by his side. All he had to do was touch the thief to feel heat racing through his veins again.

A low rumbling through Bakura's chest stopped Marik from drifting fully into sleep. He blinked blearily and turned his head up, frowning at Bakura. "Mm?"

"I said," Bakura repeated, one hand gently stroking through Marik's hair, "I'm going back in the morning."

It took Marik's sleep-filled brain several minutes to compute that sentence. A crease appeared in his brow and his vibrant violet eyes narrowed, one palm splaying flat on Bakura's chest. "What?"

"The Palace." Bakura's tone was incredibly even. "I'm going back as soon as the sun rises."

Marik stared. "...Have you completely taken leave of your senses?"

Bakura simply looked at him.

"You can't go back yet!" Marik sat up further, his eyes wide. "They'll be ready for you. They'll be extra ready for you after you killed a guard."

"I can take them," Bakura responded flatly.

"No, you can't!" Marik shook his head quickly, blond hair flying around his flushed face. "They'll capture you for sure. You're not going back yet."

Bakura's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't tell me what to do."

Marik stared at him, taken aback. "But ... you're not actually considering it, are you?"

"I already told you," Bakura answered with an odd sort of strained patience, "I'm going back as soon as the sun rises."

Marik simply stared, his jaw dropping open slightly. He sat up a little more, straddling Bakura's hips as he leaned down over him, eyes wide. "But you can't. You know what'll happen if you're caught! They'll try you for murder and thievery."

"They won't catch me." Bakura sounded far too calm.

"Yes, they will!" Marik trembled. "Gods, don't do this, Bakura. I can't watch you die."

"Listen, Marik." Bakura sat up suddenly, dislodging Marik with a startled yelp, though his hands soon caught Marik's hips to keep him in place on Bakura's lap. Bakura's burning gaze fixed straight onto Marik's. "I'm not going to be caught."

Marik was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in rapid motions as he met Bakura's eyes.

One thumb gently swiped under Marik's cheek. "I will be safe."

"How do you expect to do that?" Marik spat back. "In broad daylight, no less? They'll be looking out for you, they will expect you. Then they'll catch you and try you!"

"They have no evidence," Bakura responded smoothly.

"I'm fairly sure a dead body is evidence enough..."

"I didn't leave the guard there, Marik," Bakura scoffed with a slight eye-roll.

Marik stopped short. "...You didn't?"

"Of course not," Bakura grinned. "I'm not an idiot."

"I beg to differ," Marik hissed. His hands bunched into fists, his body tense as he remained on Bakura's lap, fixing him with a sharp gaze.

Bakura met his gaze with a quiet laugh. "I'm almost flattered by how worked-up you are over this."

Marik merely shook his head and leaned closer, allowing his head to drop into Bakura's left shoulder, avoiding the bruises. He closed his eyes. Bakura's arms soon lifted to hold him, his familiar musky scent surrounding him, and Marik thought if he could just stay like this always, with Bakura safe with him, then he would want for nothing else in life.

"I still can't let you go," Marik murmured.

Bakura heaved a low sigh. "You can't stop me."

"I have to." Marik looked up again, meeting Bakura's eyes with an almost pleading stare. "You have to leave instead. Get away from here." It pained him to say it, but Marik knew it was true – he couldn't allow Bakura to remain in danger, not when he knew the Palace would be searching everywhere for him. This little watering hole was not much cover.

Bakura ran one hand through Marik's hair with a small smile. "As if I would leave now."

"If you don't, you'll die," Marik responded bluntly.

Bakura scowled. "Marik, be serious. You are seriously underestimating me here. I wanted to cause this sort of disruption in the Palace – that has been my goal all along. And there is absolutely no way I am leaving now that I am so close to fulfilling my revenge, or had you forgotten why I am doing all this?"

"Of course not." Marik sat back a little, legs landing either side of Bakura's hips as he looked straight at him. "But I am not about to let you throw it all away. You've worked so hard for this, Bakura – imagine how you'd feel if you got caught now?"

"I'm not going to be found!" Bakura growled.

Marik shook his head sadly. "You will. I've seen it before, through Isis – criminals get too cocky, they slip up, and then they're caught and killed and left to be forgotten. No one would ever remember you and your people would go forgotten and unavenged."

Bakura snarled and shoved Marik off him. Marik landed on the sand with a wince, though he was hardly surprised when he saw Bakura stand and turn his back on him, fists clenched. Marik had expected such a reaction, but he had to make the thief see sense.

"That's why you need to give it a little more time," Marik spoke slowly. He clambered to his feet, eyes fixed on the back of Bakura's head. "Leave them stewing about where you've gone, the fact that you've escaped them again. Then strike when they're least expecting it."

Bakura made no sound.

"You know it makes sense," Marik continued quietly.

Bakura did not move, his head still turned steadfastly away from Marik. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the weak light from the moon and the speckled stars in the sky illuminating the velvety night. The sand had turned silver. When Bakura spoke, the words dropped cleanly through the air, every syllable emphasised. "I will only go if you come with me."

Marik went still.

Bakura turned to face him and his expression was calculating, eyes glinting with a cunning gleam. He held one hand out to Marik, palm-up, inviting.

Marik backed up a small step, his eyes wide. "What did you say?"

"You heard me perfectly well." Bakura smirked. His fingers crooked, beckoning to Marik. "I'll do as you say if you come with me."

Marik swallowed.

"We can find somewhere to hide out, out in the desert," Bakura continued, his eyes gleaming with eagerness this time. "And you will finally be my possession. We can wait a while, like you say. Let the Pharaoh stew before we attack, and this time there will be no escape for him or any of his petty entourage."

"...That petty entourage includes my sister," Marik breathed.

Bakura barely seemed to hear him, instead continuing, his speech intensifying with every word as he stared straight at Marik. "We'll have to go to the Tombs at dawn though. I still have the body of the guard to hide. But after that, the world is ours until the day when I will defeat the Pharaoh."

"I can't go with you."

Bakura froze. Marik was still also, his eyes wide, almost shocked at the words that had left his own lips. He pressed his hands to his mouth. Bakura's light purple eyes were piercing straight into him, but the thief's expression was unreadable. His eyes had lost their glint.

"I can't," Marik continued with a quick shake of his head. "My sister ... and it's so dangerous, out in the desert ... it's different for you, you've lived there your whole life."

Bakura's face turned stony.

Marik shook his head and backed up another step, hands clenching into fists by his sides. "You ... you expect me to go with you, just like this? To put my life in your hands?"

"Don't you trust me, Marik?" Bakura asked, and his voice was quiet.

Marik stared intently back at him. "I ... I trust you to be ruthless. I trust you to achieve your goals and get your revenge. Whatever it takes."

Bakura dipped his head in silent agreement.

"And that may not always include saving me." Marik spoke the words quietly, and there was a strange twisting in his chest that worsened with every syllable.

Bakura's brows dug together in his darkly shadowed forehead. From this distance, it was hard to pick out much more of his features than a sharp nose and a stark scar, and those burning eyes.

Marik shook his head again and backed up another step, his mouth feeling dry. "I can't go with you."

Bakura's eyes narrowed and his head dipped, cast further into shadow by the darkening of the moon. He crouched and snatched up his red cloak, every movement stiff and slow. Marik swallowed and quickly retrieved his own clothes, dressing himself messily, hurriedly. He trembled. "I can't."

Bakura's jaw clicked.

Marik traced over every inch of Bakura that he could see, violet eyes wide. Why did this feel like a betrayal? Why did he feel like he was giving up on Bakura? He spoke weakly. "You can still hide here, though ... use it as a shelter..."

Bakura's lips twisted and he turned on his heel, red cloak swirling around him as he began to walk away. Every step he took was like a stomp on Marik's stomach. He swallowed. "Be safe, Bakura..."

His only answer was a swish of disappearing red.

...

Isis was already in bed by the time Marik got home. The candle she had left by the back door for him had almost burned out, just the tiniest bit of wax left to protect the still-lit wick. Marik picked it up and used its fading light to guide him to his chamber. He set it carefully on his desk before crashing back onto his bed, squeezing his eyes shut as he dragged one hand across his brow.

Why did it feel so much like he had just seen the Thief King for the last time?

Marik curled up into a tight little ball, holding himself with a small shiver. He couldn't remember ever leaving things with Bakura on such a sour note. Of course, they had never made anything official between them – they merely enjoyed each other, on a conversational level as well as a physical one, but Marik had never taken the time to think it through beyond that. Bakura's offer to take Marik with him had never even crossed Marik's mind before. If he was honest with himself, he thought that would be the last thing Bakura wanted – Marik was under no illusion that he had absolutely no experience of living out in the desert, away from his own pampered lifestyle. Not that he and Isis were extraordinarily rich, but they were comfortable enough for Marik to know that he would not enjoy a rough life out in the desert.

...Even if it did grant him his freedom...

Marik shook his head and closed his eyes. Bakura could not have realistically expected Marik to agree to his proposal, anyway. It was a ridiculous presumption. Regardless, Marik had turned him down, and now Bakura was gone, so the best thing to do was get some sleep...

Sleep which seemed determined to evade him.

After hours of worrying over Bakura – whether he had fled out to the desert, as Marik had suggested, or if he had attempted to go through with his original plan and was in fact on his way to the Palace and certain death – Marik gave up on sleep and sat up, ruffling a hand through his messy hair. The sun was just rising, light orange rays spilling over the horizon and turning the sky an attractive shade of pink. Marik glanced out and wondered whether Bakura was looking at it too.

With a small shake of his head, Marik pulled his mind away and stood, rubbing at his face. He quickly changed into a fresh set of robes – his others were still sweaty from the previous night – and he slowly moved down the stairs to the kitchen. He started preparing some cold food for their breakfast when he heard the familiar swish of Isis' robes behind him. He smiled. "Morning, sister."

"Hello, Marik," Isis's musical voice sounded behind him and she sat at the table again, yawning.

Marik placed a bowl in front of her, sitting opposite her again. He studied her expression. She looked exhausted, her skin paler even than usual, her features drawn and her brow wrinkled. Marik frowned. "Will you have much to do today, sister?"

Isis groaned. "Ugh, yes, probably. The Pharaoh is panicking after the Thief King's break-ins and we're sure he's going to try again. He's pulling everyone in, even the unqualified to help him."

"So you'll actually be in the Palace today?" Marik asked sharply.

Isis nodded. "Me and the rest of Egypt." Her tone was joking, but Marik could hear the worry lying under her words. His brows furrowed. Bakura's constant break-ins were bound to attract attention, that much Marik had known, but he had never truly expected it to go this far. He sincerely hoped that Bakura would take his advice and hide out in the desert for a few days to let this die down. He'd just have to hide without Marik. He fidgeted in his chair, uncomfortable with that idea. Would he even see Bakura again? With the way the thief had stormed off last night, Marik wasn't so sure. He tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped at that thought.

Isis caught his pensive expression and smiled lightly. "Don't worry so much about me, little brother. We'll catch the Thief King yet."

That's what I'm worried about, Marik thought with a frown. I don't think I could survive seeing Bakura die.

"There is good news, after all," Isis continued, a genuine smile lifting her lips. "I didn't have time to tell you yesterday, but I heard from the School today. They say they will accept you for the new term."

Marik blinked. "What?"

Isis leaned forwards, her blue eyes lighting up with eagerness again as she regarded her younger brother. "The School. They'll accept you! Isn't that wonderful?"

"I..." Marik stared at her, his expression torn between confusion and disappointment. It took him several minutes to catch up with what Isis was talking about. He had forgotten that she persuaded him to put in an application to the School attached to the Palace – it would have allowed him to train in magic and learn the other arts, with the eventual aim to be some sort of servant of the Pharaoh's in the Palace. But Marik had only applied at Isis' insistence. He didn't see his future boxed up in the Palace, bowing and scraping to those who thought they were better than he simply because they had been born into different families. Marik scowled.

"Brother?" Isis' voice sounded genuinely surprised. "Aren't you pleased?"

"I..." Marik shook his head and stared at her, quickly dropping his spoon into his bowl. "No." What was he doing with his life? How could he condemn himself to a destiny of servitude, of bowing to other people's rules? That was never something he had planned for his future. He couldn't help but let his thoughts drift back to Bakura – a life of freedom, out in the desert, and he had turned that down...

For what?

"Marik?" Isis sounded confused. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

Marik shook his head and stood suddenly, knocking the still half-full bowl away from him. He eyed his sister with wide eyes. "No. I'm not pleased. Not in the slightest."

Isis' blue eyes widened with hurt.

"It's not what I want," Marik continued quietly.

Isis stood slowly to meet him, the table a barrier between them as she stared at him, her expression one of genuine utter shock. One of her hands rested on the table, her nails digging into the simple wood with almost violent intensity. She swallowed. "I … I don't understand…"

"What good would I do there, sister?" Marik continued, his voice soft. "What future do I have here, honestly? To become another fawning servant over the Pharaoh?"

Isis hissed. "Don't talk about him like that. He's our King."

"And?" Marik shook his head, glaring down at the ground. "That doesn't make me want to bind myself to him. I want to be free, Isis. Free, out there, with…" Bakura. He bit back the name just before it graced his tongue, his eyes wide.

Isis merely stared at him.

"I have to, sister," Marik finished with a firm nod. "I'm leaving. I can't stay here, not when I know what my future would be. I can't condemn myself to a life of sadness."

Silence reigned in the small hut for several long moments, weighing heavily in the air between them. Isis' blue gaze lanced straight into Marik, holding him in place far better than anything else could have done. Those blue eyes had watched over him for as long as he could remember, one of the few constants in an ever-uncertain childhood, and as he looked into them Marik felt another rush of uncertainty. What did he want? How was he supposed to know?

Isis took in a breath. "But … where would you go? How would you be safe?"

Bakura, came Marik's immediate answer. Except he had turned the thief down. He was probably long gone, and Isis would never in a million years approve if she knew the truth. Instead, Marik evaded the question a little. "I know the desert well enough. I know the signs."

"But Marik…" Isis murmured, "It's so dangerous … there are bandits, criminals, and you'd have to fend for yourself…"

"I wouldn't be alone." The words were out before Marik could stop them.

Isis stared.

"I … I've met someone." Marik said the words quietly and glanced away, fidgeting.

Isis' mouth slipped open. "The watering hole?"

"How did you know that?" Marik's eyes flew open and stared back at his sister, and this time it was his turn to look shocked.

Isis half-smiled. "There are only so many reasons you would spend hours there. I've been down a few times and seen two sets of footprints. I never saw this … someone … though."

Marik's heart was in his mouth. Gods, if she had ever run into Bakura he dreaded to think what could have happened. And he couldn't tell her … he couldn't tell her it was the Thief King…

"He'll take care of me," Marik mumbled instead, twisting away. "He will. But I have to go now."

Isis clenched her fists, her expression still showing her shock and hurt. Marik watched her carefully. He couldn't do this if it hurt her, but how could he stay here? This wasn't him…

Eventually, after a moment that seemed to span the length of time itself, Isis nodded.

Marik's head tipped back in relief. He crossed the table in seconds and threw himself at her, wrapping her in a tight hug. He breathed in her familiar scent – the smell of his childhood. His past.

"I'll miss you, brother," Isis managed to choke.

Marik screwed his eyes shut and held her tight, secure within his arms. "I wish … I wish we didn't have to separate … but…"

"I belong here," Isis continued, "And you do not."

They pulled apart and Marik nodded. She had put it in far more simple terms than he ever could.

Isis managed a smile for him, though it did not reach her eyes, and Marik pulled her back into another close hug. This time it was much, much harder to pull away.

…

Marik crossed the desert as fast as he possible could, trying not to dwell on whether or not he had made the right decision. There was no doubt in his mind now that he belonged with Bakura – of that he was more certain than anything – but would he be in time to catch the thief? Would Bakura even still be here? Or would he have gone on to the Palace, captured and caught, dead already?

That thought made Marik's heart stop.

He shook his head rapidly, doing his best to get rid of the dark images that clung insistently to his brain, shadowing his every flickering thought. He knew Bakura was a stubborn fool at times, but surely he wouldn't have been foolish enough to go to the Palace with the knowledge that every single guard in probably the entirety of Egypt was there, waiting for him. Marik remembered Isis' look as she had watched him exit the hut, her blue eyes wide with worry and concern, and that was just at thinking he had somewhere to go and someone to turn to. How would she have looked if she had known exactly what Marik was getting himself into?

Once again, Marik found himself questioning his own sanity.

His blond hair flapped around him as he rushed across the sand, sandals leaving scuffed footsteps at the speed of his steps. His robes billowed around him; a far too obvious target, he knew Bakura would say, but Marik was in too much of a hurry to bother to cover his tracks. Besides, if he wound up dead maybe they would help Isis to find his body. Marik still didn't even know for sure that Bakura would be there, and even if he was, there was no saying that he wouldn't just kill Marik where he stood. Marik had turned him down, after all.

Cresting the top of a sand dune, Marik peered out at a place he had only ever heard about before. The Tombs of the ancient Pharaohs spread out below him, the valley dotted with hidden entrances. Just the thought of the amount of treasure in this one part of the desert made Marik's eyes gleam. No wonder Bakura chose here to bury his first kill – a fitting place for the King of Thieves.

However, there was no sign of movement anywhere in the valley, not even as far as Marik could see. The sun was still high in the sky, close to midday, and Marik knew he should probably find shelter and wait out the hottest part of the day. He didn't have any water with him, and the desert was totally dry. He swallowed. No choice now but to wait and hope.

Marik began to descend the dune, slipping and sliding his way down into the valley proper. The walls of sand rose up either side of him, enclosing him and blocking off his view of the wider desert completely. The sun still beat down relentlessly. Marik placed one hand over his sweaty brow, his robes clinging to his aching body, his head pounding with lack of sleep and the heat of the sun. He checked every inch of the valley, knowing that Bakura could very easily move without leaving footprints. The thief was remarkably good at covering his tracks. Only once Marik had checked in every nook and cranny was he certain that Bakura was not here.

Disappointment sat low in Marik's gut. He collapsed in one corner, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his back against an outcrop of rock, squeezing his eyes shut. He would not allow himself to despair just yet. It was still early in the day, after all ... there was still a chance that Bakura would come here to bury the guard, as he had said he would...

The heat became too much. Marik rested against the rock, closed his eyes, and slept.

When next he stirred, Marik's mouth felt as dry as sandpaper, his tongue thick and heavy. He opened his mouth a few times, unsticking his parched lips and working his jaw to try and get some moisture into his mouth. But he had dried out. Marik attempted to move his arm, every muscle feeling heavy and weighed down, his skin coated in an unpleasant layer of dried sweat.

Marik grimaced, blinked and opened his eyes.

Bright light swam in his vision, the unadulterated sunlight pouring straight down into the valley from the sun's position high overhead in the cloudless blue sky. Marik arched his back and winced at the scrape against rock, blinking several times to try and clear the dried sleep out of his eyes.

Red danced in his vision.

Marik sat up straight immediately, rubbing his eyes. Bits of sand that had stuck to his fingers gritted across his face and he shook his head, blond strands sticking together. He squinted through the sun and he was sure that was a figure silhouetted against the horizon...

Bakura was stood on the sloping side of the valley, directly opposite Marik. His red cloak was unmistakeable.

Marik scrambled to get to his feet, grabbing the rocky outcrop behind him for support as his wide eyes picked out every detail. That was definitely Bakura – dark white hair stood out above the figure's red cloak, and no one had a chest like Bakura – but there was something wrong. He was moving down the slope with a limp, one hand twisted oddly across his body.

Marik remained frozen in place, teeth worrying his dry lower lip. It was evident that Bakura hadn't seen him yet, his head bowed heavily under the beating sun, and Marik debated just turning and leaving as if he had never come here. But the sight of Bakura was like a magnet, drawing Marik in. He was powerless. Marik had walked away once, but he severely doubted he would be able to do so again.

Instead, Marik took half-a-step forwards, cautious. But it was enough. His sandal knocked against the rock with a near-silent click, but Bakura's sharply trained ears didn't miss it and the thief quickly span around, crouching in an automatically defensive stance. His light purple eyes widened when they fell on the form of Marik, and he actually stumbled back a step, mouth opening. "Marik?!"

"It's me," Marik managed to say past his thick tongue and dry mouth.

Bakura just kept staring.

Marik took a slow step forwards, then another one, wobbling a little on his stiff legs. Bakura matched his movements, coming closer at exactly the same speed, until eventually Marik swayed forwards and Bakura caught him, opening his arms to enfold Marik safely between them. Marik fell into the thief's familiar chest, his musky scent immediately overpowering, and as he allowed his eyes to close Marik wondered why he had ever doubted that he belonged here.

"What are you doing here?" Bakura's gravelly voice ground out, rumbling against Marik's ear.

Marik half-smiled. "Waiting for an idiot of a thief. I thought you were coming here at dawn to bury the guard." He glanced up pointedly at the sky, digging his nails into Bakura's arms to keep himself upright. "You're a few hours late, though."

"You said you weren't coming," Bakura responded flatly.

"I was wrong." Marik blinked up and saw Bakura staring at him with an unreadable expression, his lips drawn tight and jaw clenched. Marik reached up and brushed his fingers over the jagged scar drawn across Bakura's right cheek, violet eyes wide. "What's the matter?"

Bakura's only response was to move his left arm slightly, making the red cloak swing open enough to reveal a sharp slash across his side. Dried blood wept from the wound.

Marik gasped. "What the hell did you do?!" He instantly crouched, fingers going to the puckered skin on Bakura's stomach, feeling around the edges of the wound. It wasn't too deep, thankfully, but there was a lot of blood.

"Does it matter?" Bakura responded bitterly, sliding down onto the sand in a dejected heap.

"Yes, it does," Marik answered, worry making his tone snippy. "Where's your bag?"

"I lost it." Bakura's eyes closed and he leaned back on his elbows, his usual mask slipping just enough to betray his pain. A slow, shaky breath escaped Bakura's lips.

Marik swallowed and crawled to sit next to him, tugging Bakura's head into his lap. He gently stroked through Bakura's dirty white strands of hair, untangling the knots, his violet eyes dragging down the thief's long body to search for any other wounds. He looked jaded, but otherwise unharmed. "Tell me what happened."

"I went to the Palace," Bakura answered without argument. "But it was like you said – guards everywhere. They were even by the window that I use to get in."

Marik's eyes widened in horror and he stared down at Bakura, fingers stilling in his hair and tightening with tension. "I told you! I told you not to go! They've been watching you, they'll know your way in by now!"

"Yes, well, if you'd come with me I wouldn't have gone," Bakura growled, opening one eye to glare at Marik.

Despite himself, Marik faltered slightly at that.

Bakura grimaced, one hand going to the wound at his side. "I didn't stay – I'm not a total idiot. One of the guards nicked me with his knife just before I clambered back out of the window, but then I was out of there. I wasn't followed – they don't know where I am now."

"Small wonder," Marik murmured in amazement. "Every guard in Egypt wants to capture the Thief King."

"Well the Thief King doesn't want to be captured." Bakura's eyes slid shut and he flopped in Marik's lap, expression loosening even further from the impassive mask he usually wore. Marik swallowed his worry and once again moved his fingers down to probe at the wound.

Bakura hissed. "Watch yourself!"

Marik ignored him and explored further, wincing at the deep cut. "We need to wash this out and bandage it before we do anything else. It'll get infected."

"You care now, do you?" Bakura's tone was oddly bitter and his eyes slid open again, glaring up at Marik with an accusation in their burning depths.

Marik's eyes slid away. "I always cared."

Bakura grunted out a snort. He twitched a little in Marik's lap as Marik's fingers swept up his chest, eventually going to the base of Marik's long robe. He ripped of a strip from the end – the material wasn't especially expensive, and the robe was long enough that missing a bit from the bottom wouldn't be too indecent. Marik took the long material and wiped it off as best he could, ensuring there were no grains of sand clinging to it, before he wrapped it tightly around Bakura's wound.

Bakura hissed.

"Hush, I'm being as fast as I can," Marik murmured, and indeed he tied off the makeshift bandage as soon as he was sure it was secure. He wrapped Bakura in a close hug. "We'll have to find some water somewhere and clean it out. I'm trusting you know how to do that?"

"I can find us water," Bakura answered in a pained grunt, "Although you seem awfully sure that you're coming with me."

Marik faltered again at that. He swallowed and glanced down at Bakura, head tilting a little to the side, his eyes distancing.

"Why did you leave?" Bakura asked, though his voice was barely audible above the whispering grains of sand.

Marik swallowed. "I didn't leave, I just ... didn't come with you..."

Bakura's eyes snapped open, and Marik found himself bottled in place by that strong, unfaltering gaze. They simply held each other's gazes for a long time until Marik found the courage to attempt to explain himself, even though he was only just coming to understand his motives himself.

"I ... was afraid," Marik answered, painfully honest. "I don't know the first thing about life in the desert. I know how dangerous the life of a thief can be – as you demonstrated rather spectacularly today." He glared at the barely-bandaged wound in Bakura's side.

"But you know me," Bakura responded matter-of-factly.

Marik glanced away again, fidgeting in the sand, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the tattered ends of his robe. "You were asking me to put all my trust in you..."

"I am asking you," Bakura interrupted. "And seeing as you are here, I thought you had accepted."

Marik looked back to see that Bakura had managed to sit up a little, his brows dug tight together in his battered face. Peering closer, Marik saw just how young the Thief King still was – it was easy to mistake his scarred body as much older than his true age, but in reality, he was only a year or two older than Marik at most.

Marik blinked and dropped his gaze. "I have. Well, I ... I realised there is no place for me in the Palace, not one I want anyway. I want to be free."

"Your freedom is bound to me," Bakura growled in response, "And you know it."

Marik glanced back up at him to see Bakura's penetrating gaze lancing straight through him. He squirmed a little. "That's what I mean! It feels like changing masters, but I am still not free."

"Masters?" Bakura growled again and grabbed Marik's chin, pressing his face uncomfortably close. "Do you think so little of me? I am not another Pharaoh!"

Marik flinched and his eyes widened as he stared at Bakura. "I know. But I still have to rely on you."

"Not as a master," Bakura snarled. "We are equals, Marik, or we would be if you actually let me in for once! I have bled for you so many times, fought to keep you and your sister safe, and still you doubt me."

Marik blinked. "...What?"

"Countless times I've watched over your little hut," Bakura hissed, "Protecting it, sending away bandits or guards or anyone else who came for you. Do you think I did that because I own you? I did it because I care! And the things I care about need protecting, or they disappear!"

Bakura was breathing heavily by now. His hands had moved to grasp Marik's shoulders, giving him a slight shake, nails digging almost painfully into Marik's skin. Marik stared back in quiet astonishment. "You ... care?"

"You're an idiot." Bakura sat back and pulled Marik closer, wincing at the obvious tug on his wound. He buried his head in Marik's hair.

Marik moved slowly, stirring as if he was finally awakened. His arms wrapped around Bakura, holding him securely in a close embrace, and he allowed himself to breathe in Bakura's incredible musky scent. He smiled. "Can I just say, it is really rich for you to call me an idiot, considering where you went this morning."

Bakura snorted. "I never would have gone if you had just come with me, like you said."

"I came to the Tombs," Marik responded mildly, sending Bakura a bright violet stare, "To bury the body of the guard, just like you said."

Bakura grinned in return, and the expression was feral and dangerous. It lured Marik even closer. "Good job that I've already taken care of that, then."

Marik arched a brow.

Bakura caught his look and smirked, leaning in to kiss his nose. "The guard is out in the sand. Any henchman of the Pharaoh deserves to be jackal food rather than sit in the valley with the ancient Kings, don't you think?"

"Well, we wouldn't want to deprive the desert wildlife of its food," Marik responded with a straight face, making Bakura break off into a peal of cackles.

Marik smiled softly before he clambered back up to his feet, wobbling a little on his still-stiff legs. He stretched into the air before offering a hand to Bakura. "Come on. Show me this water you promised me you'd find, before you pass out from blood loss."

Bakura rose, still cackling, and took Marik's hand, beginning to pull him out of the valley. His bright burning eyes glanced back once more from under his dark white fringe, the red cloak he always wore billowing out around his body. "Marik?"

"Hm?" Marik glanced back, and he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

Bakura chuckled. "I swear next time you're hiding the body."

It's probably really OOC. But it's how I like to imagine them, in their own little world, away from the harshness of reality ^_^